


Well, that wasn't a mistake after all

by PandaMega



Series: Not like this [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23283871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaMega/pseuds/PandaMega
Summary: Sequal to "Well that was a mistake" In which they almost die, feelings are confessed, but things work out in the end.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, sterek - Relationship
Series: Not like this [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674478
Comments: 3
Kudos: 170





	Well, that wasn't a mistake after all

**Author's Note:**

> There is some graphic injury sustained by Derek that might be a little gory for some people.

The avoidance is colder than usual, and Stiles is sure that if he had werewolf senses he’d smell a permeating fog of shame around Derek. It’s frustrating, he’s angry, but most of all, it hurts. It hurts because he almost had the thing he wanted more than anything, but it wasn’t real. 

The loneliness is a palpable thing. After his mom, he was steadfast in his loyalties to the last two people in his life, Scott and his father. But His father had work an obligation, and now there was a deepening chasm of lies filling the rift between them. After Scott was bitten Stiles clung on with both fists, dived head first into the chaos so as not to be left behind. But Allison waltzed in and he was left behind after all. 

Most day’s it’s tolerable, but most nights he falls asleep clinging to his pillow imagining the press of a warm body, soft whispers of affection from someone who could be just his and his alone, who would love him exceptionally and exclusively. The fantasy was more devastating than the physical ones, the hot and heavy visions of an eager body and wet mouth devouring him from the outside in. And lately those fantasies had all revolved around one specific person. One specific person who had taken those fantasies that Stiles relied on to get through the day, taken them and turned them into a joke. He felt sick just thinking about it, lying in bed and imagining he wasn’t alone, imagining a warm figure next to him and he’d be close to sleep when the thought would creep in,  _ he’s only here out of pity. There’s no real love here. _ And a cold chill would crawl up his spine and the fantasy would vanish, the reality of his isolation smothering.

He doesn’t let it show. Of course not. Stiles has gotten so good at masking his feelings he deserves an Oscar. He’s always bright, talkative, bouncing and flailing around. It’s obvious to him, his desperate need to be noticed, to be necessary. His greatest fear is being irrelevant, so he talks and he researches and he provides, and he’s a pain in the ass when he thinks he’s slipping because he’s so pathetically desperate. 

He doesn’t do it out of some noble need to help, he’s not like Scott in that way. He does it because he can’t handle being left out, because he’ll leap at any opportunity to be appreciated, even if it only ever earns him scowls. He’s out in the preserve with his baseball bat, against everyone’s warnings, because something is going down and he’s going to be there for it. The pack has split up, scattered wolves, chasing down a bunch of harpies, a murder of harpies? He’s not sure of the collective noun, but a murder seems fitting. He’s stumbling through the trees as quietly as he can when he hears a shriek far too close to him and jumps. Head whipping in the direction of the noise, he sees movement through a copse of trees and approaches. 

The sight makes him gag. There’s a whole clawed foot embedded in Derek’s chest and it seems to be digging, searching. Derek might be growling but all is does if produce frothing bloody bubbles from his lips as he claws at the harpie’s legs weakly. Stiles doesn’t think. He doesn’t even know how he does it, one minute he’s hidden by the trees, the next moment he’s swinging the bat, pulse serene, eyes hard. The bat catches the bird-like creature in the temple, splinters but follows through. There’s a resounding wet crack that isn’t wood and he feels the bone-break reverberate up tha handle and into his palms. It isn’t until the creature collapses heavily next to derek, clawed foot slipping out between broken ribs, that the panic pulses into him, adrenaline daze crashing as he falls to his knees next to Derek’s body. The Alpha is gazing up at him with wild eyes, blood bubbling from his nose and lips.

“Shh, don’t talk, don’t move, fuck, just, fuck.”

Stiles hovers his hands over the mess of Derek’s body before settling at the scaled claws still hooked over broken bone, flesh pulling blood and trying uselessly to heal at the same time.

“Fuck, this is gonna hurt, but try not to move okay,”

Stiles can feel himself talking but he’s not sure what he’s saying, babbling nonsense as he unhooks the sharp crescents from flesh and bone.

“There’s a whole fucking hole in your chest, what the fuck, a huge gaping hole that I just pulled some creatures foot out of. Your ribs are like, not right, man, that’s not where they’re supposed to be. Something is frothing and making bubbles and that doesn’t look right either, oh god. That’s your lung isn’t it. So that pulsing thing, fuck, fuck, is that you’re heart, Derek, it’s not supposed to be there. I totally took anatomy and your heart is supposed to be behind the lungs, not, god, what even happened, was it trying to pull your heart out?! Is that what I walked in on? This is, okay, I’m going to try something really stupid, but if it works you should be able to heal, right? I just need to put everything back in the right place. I totally aced my anatomy class, so don’t worry, uh, it was purely theoretical, so this will be my first hands on but, ugh, it’s so wet. Please don’t die Derek.”

While Stiles shoves Derek’s organs back into place behind his ribs, and straightens the bones back where they belong, the flesh begins to heal and the relief is so overwhelming he doesn’t notice the hulking figure stalking towards him from behind. 

Derek makes a gurgling sounds and just as Stiles is about to berate him for speaking, Derek shoves, throws Stiles off him just as a clawed foot swipes at the space where he head was. 

The harpy shrieks with fury, it’s wounded, probably escaped from one of the other wolves. Stiles scrambles for his bat, too slow, the harpy lunges. Derek feel the final rib snap into place, he’s not healed by any means but he can breathe again, and his muscles work, and that’s all he needs to react instinctively, to bolt off the ground and save Stiles. 

He black’s out from the movement, body too drained of blood to fuel his brain, his vision. He feels his mouth pool with blood, so much blood in his throat it feels like he’s drowning. He chokes, coughs, sputters, vision returning hazily and he finds himself on his hands and knees, couched over Stiles, jaw locked tight around something thick and wet, coppery and solid. He breathes through his nose, a shudder, painful breath, and relaxes enough to unlatch his jaw. The torn-out throat of the harpy falls in a pool of blood by Stiles’ head. He heaves, collapses, forehead falling to the boy’s shoulder as he shudders, body aching from the strain of healing and blood loss and over exertion. 

Stiles is shell-shocked. He lies covered in blood under Derek and feels the wolf shake with every breath. There are two dead harpies in the clearing. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Derek moves minutely, makes a sound, a low, grating sound, coughs, tries again. His lungs have barely healed enough to breathe, much less speak, but he manages in a rough voice.

“It wasn’t pity.”

It takes a moment to parse the words, but when he does, Stiles is still confused. “Derek you probably shouldn’t talk right now, what with the broken ribs and nearly having your heart torn out and-“

“It wasn’t pity.” Derek says again, more firmly, arms tightening around Stiles. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles is dumbfounded, raises a tentative hand to rub at Derek’s back and the wolf shudders.

“So sorry. I just. Felt so guilty. Knew it was wrong. Wanted you so bad anyway. Thought, thought maybe it was okay. If you wanted me too.”

Stiles froze, heart thudding in his chest as Derek stuttered out confessions.

“But. I’m the alpha. I can’t. Can’t take advantage. Can’t. It’s my fault. Everything’s my fault. You shouldn’t have to worry about dying. Should have to get hurt. I shouldn’t. I can’t. But I can’t help it. You’re so good to me. You’re pack. You always. You’re always there. When I need you. So perfect. So good for me. Smell so good.”

Derek had turned his face from Stiles shoulder to he neck and was now breathing deeply. Stiles continued rubbing his back, speechless for once. 

“Never hurt you. Mine.”

The last word is barely a whisper before Derek’s body goes completely limp over him, breathing slow and even. Stiles hold him tight, emotions roiling in his chest as he buries his face in Derek’s hair and feels his cheeks grow wet with blood or sweat or tears. He realizes absently that he’s fantasized about this, about Derek sleeping draped over him, body warm and heavy, limbs tangled. What a strange parody this was, both of them wounded and soaked in blood, Derek passed out from injury and pain and exertion. But he’s not here out of pity. Stiles shivers recalling Derek’s words, pain-drunk and deliriously honest. “ _ Mine.” _

* * *

Derek wakes up in his bed, in the loft. The world comes into focus slowly, senses easing into wakefulness after being offline. His body is sore but he’s not in pain. He can’t quite remember how he got here, the last thing he remembers was pain, pain and harpies and Stiles - fuck! Stiles was being attacked by a harpy when he blacked out. He didn’t get there in time, fuck.

His heart raced and he tumbled out of bed lacking his usual grace. He was somehow clothed in a soft t-shirt and boxers, how did he get here? What happened after the harpies? Was Stiles okay? He couldn’t even imagine it. Just the thought that Stiles might be, might be… It made something hurt and feral claw its way up his throat. He scrambled down the spiral staircase, leaping to the floor halfway down and began to bolt for the door when a figure appears from behind the refrigerator.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

Derek froze, muscles coiled mid-run, as he swept his eyes over Stiles, seemingly unharmed and very alive.

“I was just gonna cook some eggs, you must be starving.”

After a couple blinks Derek breathed in relief. “You’re alive.”

Stiles paused, brows furrowing, then he set down the carton of eggs and slowly raised his eyebrows. “ _ I’m _ alive?” He crossed his arms. “Was  _ I  _ the one who nearly got my heart ripped out? Did  _ I  _ lose a few gallons of blood? Was  _ I  _ the one convalescing unconsciously for the last 14 hours?” Stiles began to stalk towards Derek, scent growing bittersweet with anger and concern. “You should be saying that to yourself. I was fine. I was the one who came in and saved your ass. You were the one who broke your own rule to go off on your own. You reckless,” Stiles emphasized his words with a poke to Derek’s chest, “Self-sacrificing,” another poke, “infuriating excuse for an alpha.”

Derek reeled back, chastised, and found that he’d been backed into a wall.

“Why are you like this?!” Stiles cheeks were red with frustration, his eye were suspiciously shiny, and he was pressed close, pinning Derek to the wall in a role-reversal he’d never expected. And then Stiles was curling his fingers into Derek’s shirt and pulling closer. Derek’s heart tripped over itself as their lips met roughly, all chapped lips and teeth but fuck, Derek thought he’d never get to taste this again, to feel the warm, wet slide of Stiles mouth. He groaned wantonly and pulled Stiles in by the hips, tilting his head to slot their lips together and sliding his tongue in deep, tasting bitter coffee and minty toothpaste and Stiles. Stiles.

With a jolt of realization Derek remembered himself and tore his mouth away, pushing Stiles back and looking down, seeing the swollen pink of Stiles lips, gut clenching in shame, eyes darting to look anywhere other than at Stiles.

“I can’t.”

Derek’s voice was hoarse, weak to his own ears. Stile’s voice was hard when he replied.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I shouldn’t”

Stiles grabbed his shoulders and shook him, startling Derek into meeting his eyes.

“You can do whatever you damn well please!” Stiles says and leans in to kiss Derek again fiercely.

Derek turns his head to the side, avoiding Stiles lips, “It’s not fair to you, you deserve-“

“You know what you said to me last night? After you saved me and ripped that harpie’s throat out with your teeth, after you collapsed on top of me covered in blood? You said you wanted me.”

Derek looked mortified.

“You said you wanted me, you said I was so good to you, you said I was pack, I was always there when you needed me, you said I was  _ perfect _ ,” Stiles leaned in closer, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, “No one’s ever felt that way about me. It’s all I ever wanted.” He tilted his head and brushed his lips over Derek’s pulse, “You said I smell good,” Stiles pressed in ever closer and dragged his lips up Derek’s neck, “you said you’d never hurt me Derek, then you pressed into my neck and you know what you said?” Stiles had his lips next to Derek’s ear now and whispered, “ _ Mine. _ ”

Derek let out a wounded sound from the back of his throat, grip going tight on Stiles’ hips as the boy kept speaking softly into his ear.

“Will you do it Derek? I want you to. Take me. Make me yours.”

Derek couldn’t cut off the animalistic whine in his throat as he slid his arms fully around Stiles lithe frame and buried his face in Stiles neck, breathing deeply, luxuriating in the warmth and scent and rightness, struggling with allowing himself to enjoy this. 

“It’s okay, I want you too, I want you so bad, please Derek,” Stiles hands were curled into Derek’s hair, “Please,” and then they were kissing again. Hot and deep and needy. Stiles moaned into it, nipped at Derek’s tongue in his mouth eliciting a low growl. 

They barely made it to the couch, collapsing to the leather immediately and falling into each other. Derek kissed him everywhere he couch reach, every exposed patch of skin around his neck while Stiles straddled him, hips rolling, grinding with need. Derek slid his hands down Stiles sides, gripping Stiles ass and pulling him down to grind harder as Derek thrust against him. There was too much fabric between them but they couldn't stop now. Derek slid one hand up the back of Stiles shirt, rough against bare skin to grip at Stiles’ neck. Stiles was loud, moaning and whimpering and needy as Derek’s mouth and hands explored his body. Rucking up Stiles’ shirt, Derek ducked his head to breathe over Stiles pouty pink nipples, grinning when Stiles shuddered. He kissed each nipple chastely before diving in with tongue and teeth, reveling in Stiles loud appreciative sounds. The wolf slid his fingers down Stiles’ bare back and dipped them into the waistband of his sweatpants. Stiles groaned and rolled his hips enthusiastically so Derek slid his hand deeper, still mouthing at Stiles’ abused nipples, feeling too hard in his boxers and so close. His fingers brushed over the smooth round globes of stiles ass and dipped in between, just barely brushing over the puckered entrance and Stiles jerked. Derek pulled at a nipple with his teeth and slid his fingertips around the entrance again, feeling it wink under his touch, and then Stiles tensed suddenly above him, back arching, and he was coming hard with a whine, shuddering through aftershocks as Derek massaged his clenching hole and bit at Stiles neck. 

“ _ Mine _ ” he whispered into Stiles’ ear.

“Yes, fuck yes, yours, I’m yours.” Stiles clutched him tight and shuddered for a few minutes before he realized Derek hadn’t come yet, and then he was all movement. He snaked his hand between them to palm at Derek’s hard, leaking length and leaned down to kiss the groan form Derek’s lips. They kissed sloppily as Stiles clumsily reached into Derek’s boxers to grasp the warm heft of Derek’s cock and put his whole body into stroking it, rolling his hips, arching into Derek’s body and kissing deeply. The scent of Stiles cum permeated the air and he continued making erotic sounds as they kissed and soon Derek was coming over Stiles fist in a long, hot stream. They kissed through the shudders and Derek not so surreptitiously swept his hand through his own cum and painted it over Stiles stomach. Stiles smirked in understanding then nuzzled into Derek’s neck.

“No take-backsies.”


End file.
